UC-NRLF 


27    bSS 


LIBRARY 

OJ^'THK 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Accession  No.  .    Cla&s  No. 


Sample   t5ook 

PROPERTY   OF 

THE  HlCKS=JUDD  CO. 

23  FIRST  STREET 

__  _  SAN  FRANCISCO 


POEMS 


BY 


JOSIE    T.    H  ATM  AN 


'  Everything  comes  and  goes.  To-day  in  joy,  to-morrow  in 
sorrow.  We  advance,  we  retreat,  we  struggle ;  then  the 
eternal  and  profound  silence  of  death  !  " — VICTOR  HUGO. 


SAN   FRANCISCO 
1893 


rwji  ^ 

SRSITY 


ft  11 


MAY. 

COME  where  the  pure  heart  of  Nature  is  singing 

Praises  to  God. 

Come    where    the    woodland    glades    peans    are 
ringing— 

Where  on  the  sod 
What  the  sweet  flowers  are  whispering  together, 

Low,  oh,  so  low, 
Only  the  sunbeams  and  dew-covered  heather 

Ever  may  know. 

Come  where  the  lily,  its  blue  heart  unfolding, 

Scents  all  the  air; 
Where  the  bright  buttercup,  sunlight  beholding, 

Catches  its  glare. 

May,  crowned  with  beauty,  trips  light  over  the 
meadow, 

Valley  and  hill, 
Scattering  her  emblems  in  sun  and  in  shadow. 

Laugh,  happy  rill; 

Revel,  O  May,  in  your  innocent  pleasure; 

Carol,  yon  bird; 
Echo,  my  heart,  and  "rejoice  in  great  measure"  ! 

Love  hath  averred 


MA  Y. 

That  while  her  life  lasts  he'll  shower  his  kisses 

Warm  on  her  lips — 
Eager  and  ardent,  those  soul-thrilling  blisses. 

Now,  while  he  sips 

Rapturous  nectar  from  violet  glances, 

Till  a  warm  blush 
Glowing  in  roses  her  beauty  enhances. 

Come,  see  the  flush 
Love  gave  her  beautiful  face  in  his  ardor; 

Bid  cares  adieu  : 

Come,  see  the  fair  one,  whom  Love's  heart  doth 
harbor, 

And  worship  her  too. 


NATURE. 


NATURE. 

VAIN,  vain  my  words, — they  cannot  tell 
The  secret  charms  of  this  wild  dell; 
They  cannot  paint  the  flower-fringed  rill, 
And  the  sound  of  wild  birds  as  they  bill 
And  coo,  and  trill  their  merry  lays. 

Nor  can  they  paint  the  sunset  rays 
Falling  aslant  the  dusky  leaves, 
Where  the  nymph  of  fancy  weaves 
Her  frail  and  fairy  web  of  dreams; 
Nor  the  evening  star  that  gleams 
On  the  breast  of  the  western  sky; 
Nor  trembling  breezes  as  they  sigh,— 
Sigh  in  mad,  ecstatic  bliss, 
When  the  limpid  lake  they  kiss; 
Nor  the  silvery  shafts  of  the  moon, 
Glancing  through  the  forest  gloom, 
Till  light  and  shadow  seem  to  be 
Holding  a  witch-like  revelry, 
Till  dawn's  messengers  appear 
Over  the  hill  tops,  making  clear 
Morning's  undisputed  way, 
Now  midnight  has  lost  her  sway. 

Nor  can  they  sing  the  matin  song 

That  through  the  templed  grove  rings  long 


NATURE. 

In  honor  to  the  Goddess  Dawn. 

As  glistening  dew-drops  on  the  lawn 

Vanish  beneath  the  sun's  warm  ray, 

So  vanishes  each  word  away, 

Each  poor,  weak  word  that  would  express 

The  depths  of  Nature's  loveliness, 

Beneath  her  warm  and  genial  rays 

That  set  my  heart  and  soul  ablaze. 

And  as  the  shell  that  once  had  lain 
Amid  the  treasures  of  the  main, 
So  faintly,  faintly,  evermore, 
Seems  echoing  to  its  distant  roar; 
So  ever  in  me,  echo  there, 
Nature's  voicings  grand  and  rare. 


EARTH'S  JUBILEE. 


EARTH'S    JUBILEE. 

EARTH  holds  her  jubilee, 

In  haunts  secluded,  in  dusk  ravine, 

O'erhung  by  lichened  rocks; 

Light  clouds,  in  snowy  flocks, 

Floating  in  nether  air,  half  way  between 

Faint  blue  and  towering  tree. 

A  thousand  tinkling  rills 

Spray  diamond  drops  on  moss  and  feathery  frond, 

Leap  with  exultant  bounds 

And  rush  of  swelling  sounds 

The  precipice,  while  dizzy  depths  respond 

And  echoing  ether  thrills. 

The  roses  high  carnival  hold, 

And  dainty  missiles  far  and  near 

Send  fluttering  to  the  ground. 

While  with  gay,  playful  bound 

And  many  a  caper  queer, 

The  fickle  wind,  advancing  bold, 

Casts  an  admiring  glance 

At  even  the  lily  chaste. 

The  peony  blushes  red, 

And  trembling  fuchsias  thrill, 

As  kissing  them,  with  reckless  haste, 

He  hurries  on  to  join  the  dance 


8  EARTH'S  JUBILEE. 

Of  leaflets  green  in  the  elm-tree  bower. 

Now,  tired,  he  rests  awhile 

On  shaded  fountain's  mossy  brim, 

Till  seized  by  other  whim, 

He's  off  where  gaudy  poppies  smile, 

And  sunbeams  drip  in  golden  shower. 

Then  through  the  ivy,  singing  low 

A  song  so  weirdly  sad, 

So  fraught  with  memory's  dreams,— 

Half  pain,  half  sunny  gleams— 

That  all  the  tendrils  shake  with  mad, 

Reproachful  dreams  of  long  ago. 

Then  lightly,  light,  on  buoyant  wings 

He  dances  to  buttercup  valley, 

Where  he  sinks  to  sleep, 

In  the  yellow  deep; 

While  about  him  quaint  slumber  nymphs  dally, 

And  the  brooklet  its  lullaby  sings. 

The  roses  high  carnival  hold, 
They  are  playing  at  hide-and-seek, 
With  most  bewitching  smiles, 
Dimples,  with  coaxing  wiles, 
Sport  on  each  damask  cheek; 
Through  a  tangle  of  fluffiest  gold, 
Through  portals  of  violet  hue, 
Whirls  the  spirit  of  youth,  half  wild 
With  infinite  gladness, 
With  joy  almost  madness. 


EARTH'S  JUBILEE.  9 

Straight  from  the  heart  of  a  child. 
It  revels  and  romps  with  bits  of  blue 
Dropped  from  the  heavens  and  growing  here, 
Tenderly  reared  by  thoughts  of  love — 
The  flowers  of  childhood. 
In  life's  tangled  wild  wood. 

Then  soft  as  the  notes  of  a  dove, 

It  enters  a  woman's  soul; 

It  sings  a  song  so  low, 

So  fraught  with  memory's  dreams, 

Half  pain,  half  sunny  gleams, 

That  all  her  heart-beats  quiver  with  mad, 

Reproachful  thoughts  of  long  ago. 

Then  lightly,  light,  on  buoyant  wings, 

It  is  off  to  mother-love  valley, 

And  sinks  to  rest 

On  a  love-warm  breast; 

While  about  it  quaint  slumber  nymphs  dally, 

And  a  mother  her  lullaby  sings. 


10  TO   THE  MEADOW  LARK. 


TO     THE     MEADOW     LARK. 

SCARCE  can  the  eyes  thy  quiet  form  discover, 

Plain,  unpretentious  child  of  song; 

No  tropic  flames  upon  thy  plumage  hover, 

Nor  liquid  floods  of  music  throng 

From  thy  brown  throat;  —  yet,  modest  bird,  to  me 

Those  tones  have  grown  so  dear,  so  dear, 

Not  Philomel  herself  could  rival  thee. 

Forests  through  whose  rank,  luxuriant  growth, 

Ceaseless  flows  the  Amazon; 

Scenes  that  dumb  waters  e'en  to  leave  are  loath, 

So  strange  they  are  to  look  upon; 

Pale,    moonlit    bowers,    where    list'ning    lover's 

looks 
Tell  sweeter  tales  than  e'er  were  writ  in  books. 

These,  homely  bird,  are  not  thy  provinces — 
The  morning  star,  in  far-off  distance,  hears 
From  meadows  wet  with  dew  thy  cadences. 
And  when  the  sun's  last  vassal  disappears, 
Attired  in  gorgeous  panoply  of  state, 
In  abdication  of  his  throne, 
To  the  dark  queen  of  starry  zone, 
Through  the  dim  twilight  rings  thy  song,  "  Oh, 
wait." 


TO   THE  MEADOW  LARK.  11 

The  night  hath  charms  as  great  as  golden  day's. 

Her  worshipers  most  kindly  she  repays  ! 

The  day  will  reign  again!     And  in  the  meadows 

sere, 

With  courage  failing  not,  your  song.  I  hear, 
Bidding  the  frail  despondent  hearts  of  men 
Be  strong  and  wait:  "The  spring  will  come 

again." 


12  APRIL'S  PROMISE. 


APRIL'S     PROMISE. 

THE  pensive  stillness  of  this  April  morn, 
With  murmuring  winds,  low-sighing,  faint, 
And  sunshine  through  the  mist  forlorn, 
Seems  on  my  dreaming  soul  to  paint 
A  glowing  promise  filled  with  gleams 
Of  summer's  gorgeous  mellow  tints, 
When  earth  will  bask  in  June's  warm  beams, 
In  lieu  of  April's  fleeting  hints. 

Into  a  world  of  loveliness 

The  budding  forest  soon  will  swell; 

Earth's  heart  the  warm  south  winds  caress; 

The  song  bird  to  his  mate  will  tell 

In  airy  melody  his  love; 

The  flashing  rivulet  reflect 

In  its  clear  depths  the  blue  above, 

A  sapphire  sky  with  light  clouds  flecked. 


JUNE   AND    THE   ROSE.  13 


JUNE     AND     THE     ROSE. 

JUNE  said  unto  a  rose  one  day  : 

11  What  if  I  held  you  not  so  warm, 

Warm  in  my  arms  till  I  nursed  you  to  life, 

What  would  you  do,  my  rose-bud,  pray  ?  " 

The  rose  smiled  up  into  June's  fair  face  : 

"  June,  would  you  have  no  fear,  no  qualm, 

If  the  rose-buds  were  dead,  with  your  sunshine 

rife  ?  "— 
Let  him  who  will  the  lesson  trace. 


14  SUNBEAMS. 


SUNBEAMS. 

SUNBEAMS,  I  fear  you  are  lazy; 

You  are  sleeping  everywhere — 
On  the  purple  mountains  hazy, 

On  my  dear  one's  soft  brown  hair. 

Your  golden  heads  you  pillow 

On  the  breast  of  the  rippling  sea, 
On  each  gently  rocking  billow 

That  beareth  my  love  and  me. 

You're  asleep  in  each  leafy  hollow 

That  deep  in  the  woodland  lies, 
On  the  wings  of  the  skimming  swallow, 

In  the  depths  of  my  loved  one's  eyes. 

Delicious,  lazy,  sunbeams, 

In  the  shadow  of  clouds  you  may  hide; 
But  my  heart  will  be  filled  with  your  day-dreams, 

With  my  loved  one  by  my  side. 


RAIN  SONG.  15 


RAIN     SONG. 

THE  tiny  drops  come  pattering, 

Come  pattering  on  the  pane, 
And  gently,  oh,  how  gently, 

Begins  the  silver  rain 
To  fall  upon  the  poor  dead  flowers; 

While  on  the  drooping  trees, 
No  more  is  heard  the  song  of  bird, 

Or  busy  hum  of  bees. 

Now  listen,  little  children, 

To  what  the  raindrops  say, 
As  on  the  roof  they  patter 

Throughout  the  livelong  day: 
They  say  that  though  the  flowers 

Have  faded  long  ago, 
Their  colors  all  will  shine  again 

Upon  the  bright  rainbow. 


16  SUNSET. 


SUNSET. 

DAYLIGHT  is  shifting  the  sunset  scenes 
'Tween  mosques  with  shadowy  minarets; 

A.  grove  of  palm  trees  intervenes, 

And  golden  founts  shoot  iridescent  jets, 

While  thrills  the  grand  reverberation 

Of  Nature's  orchestra,  the  ocean. 

Through  heaven's  spacious  vaults,  rare,  richly  fret 

In  arabesque,  and  with  bright  jewels  set, 

Sudden  the  flaming  Orient  fades  ! 

No  flash  from  footlight  or  from  chandeliers— 
A  dusky  gloom  the  vast  concave  pervades— 

And  settles  sombre  on  the  mountain  tiers, 
The  while  full,  resonant  concords  rise, 
As  echoing  chord  to  chord  replies, 
Wave  upon  wave,  tumultuous,  sublime, 
Beating  in  grandeur  on  the  sands  of  time. 

Then  silence  deeper  than  the  deep,  the  while 

A  pallid  amber  glow  the  gloom  suffuses; 
Fair  angel  faces,  in  resplendence  smile, 

And  meditation  in  the  foreground  muses- 
Vanishing  slowly,  while  the  seas  adore 
The  skies,  and  all  their  souls  outpour, 
Floating  majestic  heavenward,  and  then, 
Softer  than  sleep,  "  Peace  and  good- will  toward 


men." 


i'TY 


THE   WIND'S  SONG   TO   THE  FOREST.       17 


THE     WIND'S     SONG    TO    THE     FOREST. 

How  SWEET,  sighed  the  breeze, 
As  it  roamed  through  the  trees, 

How  sweet  is  the  fragrance  you  breathe! 
I  have  sailed  distant  seas, 

Sipped  all  joys  they  bequeath, 
And  found  never  one  sweet  as  these. 

Oh!  would  I  might  stay 
Where  the  cataract's  spray 

Bejewels  the  delicate  fern; 
Rest  where  boughs  swing  and  sway, 

And  flowers  glow  and  burn, — 
But  I  must  away,  must  away, 


18  THE  RAINDROP   AND    THE  SEED. 


THE     RAINDROP     AND     THE     SEED. 

A  TINY  seed  and  a  raindrop  lay 

Beside  the  road,  one  wintry  day. 

The  sun,  through  a  cloud  rift,  an  arrow  of  light, 

Shot  straight  on  the  drop,  till  it  shone  so  bright 

That  the  seed  grew  jealous  and  wished  to  be 

Hid  away  where  no  eye  might  see. 

No  sooner  thought,  than  a  passer-by, 
Unheeding  the  drop  or  its  neighbor  nigh, 
Stepped  on  the  seed,  which  sank  from  sight 
In  the  dark,  damp  earth,  from  the  gay  sunlight, 

How  hot  it  became  in  its  new-found  bed ! 

Its  throat  grew  parched,  and  its  poor  little  head 

Ached,  till  the  raindrop  it  envied  so 

Took  pity  upon  it  and  struggled  slow 

With  its  feeble  strength  to  its  suffering  friend, 

That  it  might  some  happy  assistance  lend. 

Ah,  then  the  heart  of  the  little  seed 
Knew  that  this  was  its  friend  indeed; 
And  swelling  with  gratitude  and  regret, 
Vowed  that  it  never  would  forget 
Its  friend,  and  the  lesson  learned  that  day. 


THE  RAINDROP   AND   THE  SEED.  19 

And  that  is  the  reason  why,  I  dare  say, 
That,  long  years  after,  upon  that  road 
Stood  a  beautiful  tree,  the  loved  abode 
Of  songsters,  yielding  a  grateful  shade 
To  the  weary  passer,  and  scenting  the  air 
With  its  fragrant  blossoms  passing  fair. 

And  that  is  the  reason  it  trembles  so, 
When  the  winds  of  winter  rustle  low, 
And  raindrops  sparkle  upon  its  leaves. 
I  think  'tis  a  spell  that  remembrance  weaves, 
A  tremulous  thought  of  a  winter  day, 
When  a  drop  and  a  seed  on  the  roadside  lay. 


20  MORNING    FINE. 


MORNING     FINE. 

THROUGH  the  open  window  stealing, 

Comes  morn's  balmy  breeze; 
Wanders  o'er  the  chords  of  feeling; 

Wakes  soul  melodies; 
Fans  the  fires  of  hope  to  stronger 

Action  in  my  breast; 
Bids  doubt's  fears  disturb  no  longer 

Feelings  of  sweet  rest; 
Whispers  that  wild  flowers  are  blowing 

Near  the  sunny  streams; 
Whispers  that  all  life  is  glowing 

'Neath  morn's  dewy  gleams. 

Though  the  pulse  of  spring  is  beating 

High  within  the  land, 
Time,  the  conqueror,  is  fleeting. 

By  his  mighty  hand 
All  things  change,— the  bud,  the  flower, 

Blossoms  fade  and  die; 
Trees  of  spring  their  heads  will  cower 

'Neath  a  wintry  sky. 

Though  the  warm  blood  swiftly  courses 
Through  the  youthful  vein, 


MORNING    FINE.  21 

Use  the  heart's  and  mind's  resources, 

Ere  their  powers  wane. 
Though  your  life  be  in  its  dawning, 

Time  is  flying  fast; 
Noontide  must  succeed  the  morning — 

Sunset  comes  at  last. 


22  TWILIGHT. 


TWILIGHT. 

Now  Twilight,  fair-haired  sister  of  the  night, 
Who  comes  from  heaven's  sunset  gate, 

Shedding  o'er  earth  a  pure,  ethereal  light, 
Enjoys  her  brief  yet  happy  state. 

Slow  music  stealing  thro'  the  cloistered  aisles, 

Breathing  a  soulful  melody, 
Till  distant  gleamings  of  an  angel's  smiles 

Seem  mingled  with  its  harmony. 

And  for  a  moment  brief  the  meek-eyed  Peace, 
With  countenance  divinely  calm, 

Bids  all  my  raging  passions  cease, 
Yields  discontent  itself  a  balm. 


THE     WIND.  23 


THE     WIND. 

LIST  to  the  sweeping  raiments  of  the  wind! 
Follow  her,  heart  of  mine,  and  leave  behind 

All  grosser  element. 
While  through  the  clouds,  the  misty  morn  shines 

soft 
O'er  daisied  field  and  sprinkled  rose-hedge  croft. 

Where  graceful  pendants  of  the  wild-grape  vine 
The  gnarled  boughs  of  the  twisted  oak  entwine; 

Rest  on  the  lily's  heart, 

Where,  on  the  shifting  shadows  of  the  pond, 
In  dripping  coolness  floats  the  fringing  frond. 

Creep  o'er  some  lonely  thicket  tangled  grown, 
Where  shrouded  echoes  from  some  ocean's  cave 

Faint  on  the  white-brier  rose. 
Would,  ere  the  morning  flames  the  eastern  sky, 
Wfith  the  night  wind,  this  heart  of  mine  might 
die! 


24  SPRING. 


SPRING. 

BARE  branches  trace  an  airy  network  on  the  sky; 
The  faint-heard  sea-gull  vents  its  shrill,  peculiar 

cry, 
Then  slowly  wheels  and  darts  o'er  waters  blue; 

Soft  green 

Of  shadowy  outlined  hills,  through  misty  sheen, 
Browns  and  golden  gleams  that  imperceptibly, 
Threading    through    silvery   furze    and    darker 

wooded  tree, 

Dissolve  in  purple  distance. 
Breezes  wandering  by, 
In  praises  of  the  blue-eyed  violets  vie. 
Deep  in  the  scented  grasses,  low  I  hear 
Voices  of  coming  wild  flowers,  sweet  and  clear. 
It  is  a  happy  time,  a  time  when  Nature's  heart 
Flutters,  it  scarce  knows  why; 
When  all  her  pulses  start, 
With  new  delicious  life,  before  her  vows 
Are  writ  in  flowers  of  love  on  stems  and  leafy 

boughs. 

'Tis  girlhood  in  the  gracious  light  of  love  unspoke 
Yet  felt — the  strange,  mysterious  ecstasy  awoke 
In  the  rapt  poet's  soul  before  his  theme  is  born! 
Prayer  absorbing,  earnest,  deep,  where  heavenly 

visions  dawn. 


LAZINESS.  25 


LAZINESS. 

A  FADING  glory  of  mellow  rays 
Burnishing  the  sea-gull's  throat, 
The  slack  sails  of  fishers'  boats, 

And  meads  where  soft-eyed  cattle  graze; 

Children  romping  on  the  shingly  beach, — 

A  roistering,  rollicking  band, 

Building  their  castles  of  sand. 
And  mocking  the  sea-fowl's  screech; 

From  marsh  of  pennywort  and  marigold 
Commingled  odors;  from  the  brine 
Inspiring  draughts;  sweet  breath  of  kine, 

And  faint  moist  smell  of  upturned  mould; 

All  in  lazy,  mystic  splendor 

Of  a  summer  afternoon,— 

Happy,  and  careless,  half  buried  in  a  dune, 
Blest  laziness,  to  thee  my  thanks  I  render. 


26        MORNING    NEAR    THE    WILLAMETTE. 

MORNING    NEAR    THE    WILLAMETTE. 

[JUNE,  1891.] 

LOCUST  blossoms,  fluttering  to  the  ground, 

Across  the  long,  low  stretch  of  dewy  leas; 

Clear  on  the  moist,  cool  air  there  comes  the  sound 

Of  lowing  cattle,  standing  with  their  knees 

Hid  deep  in  clover; 

While  the  bee,  the  rover, 

Flits  from  the  wild  rose  in  the  hedge 

To  the  lupine  on  the  river's  edge. 

The  river's  murmurings  soft 

Are  echoing  high  aloft 

In  the  redwoods  and  the  poplars  tall; 

While,  filled  with  a  mysterious  ecstasy, 

From  drooping  willows  floats  a  twittering  call, 

And  the  lark  pours  forth  his  airy  rhapsody. 

There  stand  great  oak-trees  bold, — 

Stand  with  their  legends  old 

Of  the  dead  warriors  slumbering  at  their  feet, 

Where  the  pure-e}^ed  and  white-souled  marguerite 

Grows  on  their  lonely  graves; 

While  the  Willamette  laves 

Its  edges.     Hark!  the  low  and  pleasant  whir 

Of  the  mill-wheel,  mingling  with  the  village  bells. 

Deep  and  quiet  chords  of  feeling  stir 

Within  me,  and  my  heart  with  music  swells. 


GLIMPSES.  27 

GLIMPSES. 

[YOSEMITE,  1892.] 

SEE  you  the  butterflies,  like  flowers,  their  petals 

blue  and  gold  unfolding, 
Poising  on  creamy  bells,  pink  buds,  and  scarlet 

runners;    holding 
The  honeyed  sweets  of  summer  heats,  and  wanton 

morning  dewdrops  sipping, 
All  too  short-lived,  yet  all  happy,  through  the 

clovered  purple  slipping  ? 

Sunbeams  in  soft  rainbow  scarfs,  enchanters  daz- 
zlingly  upheaping 

Spells  of  sard  and  emerald  on  foam  of  water  diz 
zily  down-leaping, 
And  liquid  whirls  of  snowy  pearls — 

Ah,  these  are  love's  all  tender  greetings,  that  o'er 
my  heart's  torrent  playing, 

Turn  its  poor  drops  into  jewels  with  the  glamour 
of  their  swaying. 

Mark  you  the  clear  lake  mirroring,  and    wood- 
notes  through  green  arbors  trembling; 

Bowlders,  mossy  grown,  and  sighing  pines,  soft 

clouds  in  heaven  resembling 
The  mystic  lyres  of  forest  choirs  ? — 


OF   THR 

DIVERSITY 


28  GLIMPSES. 

Thus  on  my  open  soul  when  summer's  wondrous 

radiance  is  streaming — 
Always  the  image  of  Nature  fair  upon  its  waters 

still  is  gleaming. 


THE    MERCED.  29 

THE     MERCED. 

[YOSEMITE.] 

FROM  the  eternal  purity  of  heaven-piercing  peaks, 

a  flood  of  water  froths  its  rocky  path; 
Holding  aloft  its  banners  of  the  wood,  it  spurns 

with  feet  impatient  the  granite  barriers  wrath, 
Shouting    with    lusty    strength   of  youth,    while 

mighty  inspirations  leap  from    high  to  swell 

the  current  of  its  lucid  soul,  "Jehovah." 
Azalia  in  adoration  bends  and  sends  a  prayer  on 

perfume's  wings,  and  the  grave  wind  responds, 

"Amen."     Ever  its  goal 
Before,  the  river  hurries  on  till,  listening  to  the 

alder's  whispered  love,  it  rests  in  flowery  arms 

upon  a  mossy  heart; 
But    storm-clouds   empty   their   vials  of   wrath, 

hurricane  lashes  its  heart  to  fury,  and  thunder 

moans, — no  rest,  no  rest! 
And  awful  cliffs,  like  ministers  of  strength,  their 

cheeks  all  pity-blanched  and  veiled  with  mist 

their  majesty,  answer,  "  Ever  so." 
Far  from  your  mountain  maiden,  with  fern-soft 

breath  and  eyes  like  melting  moonbeams,  you 

must  go. 
Filtering  through  willow   leaves,  red  gold,  with 

lambent  flames,  the  river  lights,  as  thoughts  of 

duty  done  the  eye  of  faith; 


30  THE    MERCED. 

As  through  the  glare  of  ripening  grain,  all  day, 
the  river  flows.  Now  darkness.  Through  cloudy 

halls  of  memory,  like  a  wraith 
Of  happiness  departed,  the  pale  moon  flits,  but 

listen,— all  prophetic  on   the  breeze,  is  borne 

the  song 
Of  harvest  time,  and  the  cheerful  hum  of  labor, 

comforting.     So  now  the  river  flows  along, 
And  o'er  the  lonely  hearth  of  a  deserted   town 

its  foliage  weaves, 
As  upon  hopes  forsaken  the  stream  of  kindness 

its  graceful  verdure  leaves; 
While  the   stars,  all  mystical,  fading  ever  with 

the  night,  look  upon  the  distant  sea, 
Where,  mingling   with   the    mighty    streams    of 

earth,  the  river  soon  will  be. 


MEADOW    LANDS.  31 

M  E  A  D  O  W     LANDS. 

[YOSEMITE.] 

BREEZY  meadows,  rippling  grasses,  dancing  ferns, 

and  nodding  brakes, 
Baby-blue-eyes  clustering  closely,  in  a  hundred 

mimic  lakes; 
Dimpling,  rippling,  reedy  hollows,  hollows  reedy, 

by  the  pool, 
Where  the  sleek-haired   cows  are  standing,  knee 

deep  in  the  water  cool; 
Shadows  brown  and  dusty,  sun-gleams  frolicking 

at  hide  and-seek, 
While  the  pert  woodpecker  smartly   breaks  the 

silence  with  his  beak. 

Breezy  meadows,  rippling  grasses,  dancing  ferns, 

and  nodding  brakes, 
Where  the  lark  with  showers  of  music  all   the 

bees  and  blossoms  wakes; 
Where  the  glad,  glad  sunrise  flashes  violet  kisses 

on  the  dew, 
And  the  warm  wind  woos  the  roses,  all  the  happy 

summer  through; 
Where  the  lily's  heart  of  splendor  dazzles  all  the 

shimmering  green, 
And    pink    pussy  -  paws,   like  velvet,   in    warm 

patches  glow  between. 


32  MEADOW    LANDS. 

Breezy  meadows,  rippling  grasses,  dancing  ferns, 

and  nodding  brakes, 
Gold-dipped  pansy,  gold-dipped  pansy,  can  you 

heal  the  heart  that  aches  ? 
Yes,  ah,  yes,  mellifluous  whispers  float  from  all 

the  meadow  lands, 
While  the  brooklet  sighs  responsive,  flowing  over 

crystal  sands; 
And  the  sweet  eyes  of  the  flowers,  springing  from 

each  grassy  clod, 
Look  with  mild  reproach  to  heaven,  and  smile 

upon  a  loving  God. 


NEAR    MONTEREY.  33 


NEAR  MONTEREY. 

THERE  is  a  cavern  down  by  the  sea, 

All  dark  and  dismal,  where  ceaselessly 

The  billows  rush  with  resounding  force, 

Louder  and  louder  their  mutterings  hoarse, 

Till  lost  in  a  cataract  of  spray 

On  the  rock-bound  coast  of  Monterey. 

When  a  sunbeam  falls  on  its  foam-wet  walls, 

It  hurries  away  from  those  dismal  halls, 

Whence  the  tender  moonbeams  timidly 

Fly  back  to  nestle  upon  the  sea. 

The  sea!     0  wondrous  mystery! 

Wrhat  magic  spell  do  you  hold  o'er  me  ? 

That  ever  and  always,  far  and  near, 

Thy  deep-toned  music  I  seem  to  hear. 

Ever  and  always  before  my  eyes 

The  scenes  of  thy  mighty  splendor  rise, 

But  above  this  cavern,  deep  and  lone, 

Where  the  restless  billows  toss  and  moan, 

Spring's  verdure  is  broidered  with  skeins  of  flowers, 

And  proudly  the  grand  old  cypress  towers. 

The  heart  has  its  caverns  deep  and  lone, 

Where  life's  heaving  billows  toss  and  moan. 

Nor  love,  nor  friendship,  may  penetrate 

Where  its  seething  billows  agitate. 

You  may  look  upon  a  calm,  sweet  face, 

But  the  heart's  deep  secrets  you  cannot  trace. 


34  THE    SEA. 


THE      SE'.A. 

ON  the  sea,  the  deep  blue  sea, 
Grand,  triumphant,  strong  and  free, 
Now  my  light  bark  swiftly  bounds 
Where  the  rocking  tempest  sounds. 
First  on  mountain  tops  of  foam 
Where  sea-nymphs  their  tresses  comb; 
Then  below  in  crystal  vales — 
Charmed  by  mermaids'  wondrous  tales 
Of  the  strange  land  far  below, 
Where  in  fancy  now  I  go. 
See  the  silvery  light  that  falls 
Softly  o'er  its  domes  and  halls, 
Where  the  Fairy  Queen  holds  sway 
O'er  the  realms  of  joyous  day! 
See  rare  flowers,  in  beauty,  blow! 
See  the  sparkling  gems  that  glow 
Where  no  hand  of  man  hath  been 
Flowers  to  pluck  or  gems  to  win! 
W7here  a  yearly  splendor  beams 
And  through  clear  green  water  gleams; 
This  is  why  I  joy  to  be 
On  the  bosom  of  the  sea. 
When  the  moon's  bright  ray  serene 
WTeaves  a  witchery  o'er  the  scene, 
When  the  distant  star-worlds  gaze 


THE   SEA.  35 

On  the  water's  wildering  maze; 
When  in  Luna's  hurried  flight 
Scudding  clouds  half  hide  her  light, 
When  the  sun  his  brilliance  flings 
Where  the  wild  gull  dips  his  wings, 
When  the  gods  of  darkness  dwell 
In  the  air,  and  billows  swell; 
At  all  times,  I  love  to  be 
A  rover  on  the  deep  blue  sea. 
Here  is  found  true  liberty; 
Here  God  speaks  in  mystery; 
Speaks  in  thunder  tones  of  wrath, 
Hurls  the  lightning  down  its  path, 
Bids  the  stormy  winds  be  still, 
Calms  the  tempest  at  His  will; 
This  is  why  I  long  to  be 
Ever  near  the  deep,  deep  sea. 


30  ON    THE    SEA-SHORE. 


ON     THE     SEA -SHORE. 

HARK!  the  evening  bells  are  ringing, 
And  the  nightingale  is  singing,— 

Come,  my  love,  to  me. 
On  the  shore  the  waves  dash  lightly, 
Over  all  the  stars  shine  brightly, 

While  I  wait  for  thee. 

See,  she  comes,  my  life's  best  treasure; 
Naught  my  love  for  her  can  measure, 

Or  my  joy  express. 

Her  dear  eyes,  with  love-light  beaming. 
Shine  like  stars  above  us  gleaming, 

In  love's  tenderness. 

So  about  the  beach  we  wander, 
And  upon  the  future  ponder, 

In  the  fair  moonlight; 
Listening  to  the  sea  lamenting, 
Like  a  broken  heart  repenting, 

In  the  silent  night. 
***** 
Ah,  those  happy  times  are  fled, — 
Brightest  hopes  have  long  been  dead,— 

Ah,  the  barren  sea! 
Death  my  dearest  one  has  wed, — 
Laid  her  in  her  narrow  bed 

By  the  restless  sea! 


SAN    FRANCISCO.  37 


SAN     FRANCISCO. 

TWILIGHT  has  dropped  a  silv'ry  veil 

Over  earth's  troubled  breast; 
Soft  breezes,  daughters  of  the  gale, 

Alone  disturb  her  rest. 

They  bring  from  o'er  the  western  sea 

Perfumes  so  sweet  and  rare, 
Scattering  them  caressingly 

Upon  her  features  fair. 

'Twould  seem  an  angel's  unseen  hand 
Had  wrought  on  heaven's  high  dome  . 

Figures  that  change  like  the  drifting  sand, 
Light  as  the  ocean's  foam. 

Among  the  lingering  rose-tipped  clouds 

The  star  of  evening  shines 
Radiantly  through  the  mist  that  shrouds 

The  far-off  mountain  pines. 

Slow  fades  the  glory  of  the  west, 

Night  walks  upon  the  deep, 
In  starry  robes  of  azure  dressed, 

Her  vigils  lone  to  keep. 

Now,  softly  clear  the  bugle-call 
Falls  on  the  glistening  bay, 


SAN    FRANCISCO. 

Where  lucid  beams  of  moonlight  fall — 
That  with  the  bright  waves  play. 

And  of  all  the  beautiful  sights, 
On  which  the  moonbeams  gaze, 

None  love  they  better  than  the  heights 
Which  now  so  proudly  raise 

Their  heads  against  the  deep  blue  sky; 

And  stars  e'en  long  to  wait, 
As  through  the  heavenly  course  they  fly, 

Above  thy  Golden  Gate. 

Fair  city,  in  your  filmy  dress 
Of  mystic  moonlight  wound, 

Hark!  how  the  waves  in  tenderness 
Your  praises  ever  sound. 


OP   THP, 

((  CJ.NI VBRSITY   ] 
\,    /,.     ::::=:  JJ 


IN  MOUNTAIN    VIEW   CEMETERY.          39 

IN     MOUNTAIN     VIEW     CEMETERY. 

[OAKLAND.] 

SILENCE  spreads  her  soft,  dove-colored  wings 

Above  the  opal  waters  of  the  bay; 
From  yonder  covert  copse,  a  lone  bird  sings 

His  farewell  song  to  the  fast-dying  day. 
"  Good-bye,    good-bye,  —  Peace  fold  thee  to  her 
breast," 

Floats  benedictive  from  the  sky  to  earth ; 
While  flowers  close  their  eyes  and  sink  to  rest 

Upon  the  gentle  heart  that  gave  them  birth. 

Blending  in  rare,  harmonious  reliefs, 

Sweep  undulating  curves  of  gray  and  green; 
While  the  ship  Twilight  spreads  her  tinted  reefs, 

And  sails  the  shores  of  day  and  night  between, 
Towards  the  long  line  of  purple  hills  that  skirt 

The  east  horizon,  tinged  with  faintest  rose. 
Like  sentries  tall,  the  eucalyptus  girt 

And  guard  full  well  this  city  of  repose. 

"  Asleep  in  God."     Silence  hath  set  her  seal 
In  reverence  upon  these  peaceful  graves, 

Till,  clothed  in  majesty,  the  Lord  reveal 

Life's  mystery.     Oh,  many  a  sad  heart  craves 


40          IN  MOUNTAIN    VIEW   CEMETERY. 

To  be  at  rest  beneath  the  quiet  trees 

That  cast  their  grateful  shadows  on  the  turf; 

Far  from  the  tumult  of  life's  rolling  seas, 
No  more  to  battle  in  the  angry  surf. 


CONTENTMENT.  41 


CONTENTMENT. 

COULD  I  but  find  some  solitary  spot, 

Some  still  secluded  vale;  a  hermitage, 
Where  the  false  tongues  of  men  would  stir  me 

not, 
Where   I   might   read    the   book   of   Nature's 

page- 
There  wilting  life,  with  energy  supplied 

From  beauty's   fountain  head,  contentment's 

spring, 

The  blighting  ravages  of  time  may  hide, 
In  raptures  that  the  joys  of  nature  bring. 

Contentment — there  is  such  a  word,  I  know, 

But  from  experience  I  cannot  tell 
What  its  significance  may  be,  for  oh, 

My  soul  ne'er  yet  hath  whispered,  u  It  is  well!  " 
For  standing  in  the  fertile  plain,  I  gaze 

A  moment  at  the  flowered  grass;  then  turn 
My  wistful  eyes  to  where,  in  wandering  haze 

The   purple   summits   point   to   heaven;    and 
yearn 

To  scale  the  highest  peak,  and  stand  alone 

Upon  its  lofty  eminence,  and  hear 
The  deep  voice   of    the   wind  —  storm  -  sob   and 
moan, 


42  CONTENTMENT. 

'Mid  gloomy  pines;  to  see  the  first  soft  tear 
That  falls  from  heaven's  eye  upon  the  earth; 

To  watch  the  sunbeams  kiss  the  tear  away, 
To  see  earth  waken  into  life  and  mirth, 

Beneath  their  influence,  in  verdure  gay. 


IMAGINATION.  43 


IMAGINATION. 

AH,  to  loftiest  heights  my  soul  would  soar, 

In  bold  aerial  upward  flights,  far,  far 
Above  cold  craggy  cliffs  and  mountains  hoar, 

To  where  no  impious  human  hand  may  mar 
The  clear  reflection  caught  from  the  sublime 

Communion  with  the  spirits  of  the  air, 
That  whisper  dulcet  words  of  mystic  rhyme. 

So,  wafted  on  the  wings  of  peace,  no  care 
Would  then  disturb  my  soul  in  tremulous  flight 

Where  fancy  holds  unlimitable  sway, 
And  fond  illusion's  visions  fill  the  night. 

And  then  will  music's  soft  and  hallowed  ray 
Over  my  soul  a  glimmer  fling  of  peace, 

And  fill  my  life  with  harmonies  grand 
As  it  swells,  as  it  tells  how  joys  increase 

In  true  imagination's  happy  land. 


44  LOVE. 


LOVE. 

SHINE  forth,  thou  glorious  beacon  of  the  day, 

In  all  the  splendor  of  thy  might- 
Shine  forth!     O'er  all  the  land  extend  thy  sway. 

Dispel  the  gloomy  shades  of  night. 
When  fall  thy  splendor  on  the  darksome  glade, 

Then  shall  the  birds'  loud  caroling 
The  solemn  quiet  of  the  woods  invade, 

And  borne  upon  the  lark's  light  wing 
Earth's  song  of  praise  like  incense  is  upborne. 

My  heart  may  then  forget  its  fears, 
And  casting  off  love's  fetters,  cease  to  mourn; 

Ah,  no;  far  better  Love's  sad  tears, 
Than  Nature's  smiles  or  pleasure's  songs  of  glee, 

Without  thee  neither  could  exist; 
All  would  be  lost,  oh,  love,  if  not  for  thee, 

In  gloom's  impenetrable  mist. 


AMBITION.  45 


AMBITION. 

THE  man  who  has  no  purpose  in  his  life, 

Whose  inmost  bosom  never  has  been  rife 

With  thought  as  keen  as  sharp  Damascan  knife, 

Who  longs  not  to  be  foremost  in  the  strife: 

For  him  no  sonnet  will  the  poet  breathe, 

For  him  will  victory  no  chaplet  weave, 

In  glory's  ranks  no  meed  will  he  achieve, 

No  pleasures  high  his  dull  mind  e'er  perceive. 


46  REMEMBRANCE. 


REMEMBRANCE. 

IN  every  heart  there  dwells  some  fond  desire, 
Though  smouldering  embers  of  a  dying  fire. 
A  feeble  gleam  now  flickers  in  my  breast 
Where  raging  flames  once  blazed  and  knew  no  rest. 
But  pour  the  oil  of  memory  on  the  spark, 
'Twill  quickly  kindle  on  love's  hearthstone  dark. 
Like  stars  upon  the  dusky  brow  of  night, 
When  flowers  have  said  their  last  farewell  to  light, 
So  shine  the  gems  of  love  in  memory's  crown. 
Though  banished  be  its  light  by  reason's  frown. 


REGRETS.  47 


REGRETS. 

Now  though  your  heart  be  brimming  o'er 

With  sorrow  for  the  dead; 
Now  though  your  soul  be  grieving  sore 

For  words  I  have  not  said; 
Oh,  think  not  that  I  willfully 

Would  add  to  griefs  dark  "stream 
One  drop  of  aught  save  sympathy, 

Or  fling  on  sorrow's  dream 
One  shade  more  black  than  it  hath  known 

For  in  affection's  land 
You,  friend,  are  seated  on  the  throne, 

Fashioned  by  love's  warm  hand. 
If  by  a  single  act  of  mine 

I've  given  you  cause  to  grieve, 
In  penitence  I  now  repine, 

And  round  my  heart-strings  weave 
The  tangled  threads  of  deep  regret. 

Then,  friend  I  love  so  well, 
You  surely  will  forgive,  forget, 

And  whisper,  All  is  well. 


48  REFLECTIONS. 


REFLECTIONS. 

DARK,  threatening  clouds  of  sorrow  overhang, 
The  noon  of  pleasure's  bright,  brief  day. 

Ah,  'tis  a  truth  that  through  the  ages  rang, 
The  sweetest  joys  soon  fade  away. 

E'en  when  we  deem  this  earth  a  Paradise, 
And  of  Contentment's  stream  the  source, 

Swift  sudden  gusts  of  stormy  passion  rise 
And  sweep  around  us  with  wild  force. 

The  bouyant  ship  upon  the  tranquil  sea 
Dreams  not  of  danger  from  the  storm; 

But  thunder-clouds  may  soon  peal  fearfully, 
And  lightning  clothe  her  trembling  form. 


COMPASSION.  49 


COMPASSION. 

DEAD  leaves  lie  thick  on  the  cold,  hard  ground, 
And  all  is  silent,  except  the  sound 

Of  their  rustling  low. 

Spring's  verdant  foliage  has  vanished  clear; 
Its  blossoming  flowers  are  dry  and  sear; 

Its  songs  hushed  long  ago. 

But  soon  the  pitying  hand  of  God 
Will  cover  the  dry  and  barren  sod 

In  mantle  white. 

And  trees  that  tower  bleak  and  bare, 
He'll  hide  with  a  garment  wondrous  fair, 

And  pure  as  light. 

The  spring  of  life  from  Time's  hand  has  rolled, 
The  story  of  life  is  almost  told, — 

Its  June  has  fled. 
Its  autumn  fast  is  waning  away; 
What  once  was  beauty  is  now  decay; 

Its  songs  are  long  since  dead. 

But  soon  the  pitying  hand  of  God 
Will  cover  life's  dry  and  barren  sod. 

And  the  poor  dead  leaves 
Of  withered  hopes  that  the  heart  will  keep, 
He'll  hide  in  a  silence  long  and  deep, 

'Neath  the  robe  He  weaves. 


50  REVERIE. 


REVERIE. 

A  QUIET  day,  a  day  for  blissful  dreaming, 
Beside  still  waters,  in  the  shadow  cool 
Of   forest    trees,   through    which    the    sunlight 

gleaming 

Falls  tenderly  upon  the  sleeping  pool, 
While  low  the  winds,  like  wandering  minstrels 

stray, 
And  gentle  melodies  upon  the  tree-tops  play. 


HOW    OOULD    THEY   KNOW?  51 


HOW    COULD     THEY     KNOW? 

ALL  the   pretty  flowers  bowed  their  heads   and 

wept ; 

Next  day,  the  rosy  feet  of  happy  childhood  stepped 
Amid  flame  patches  in  the  green, 
Harebells  and  golden  poppies  sheen, 
Nor  knew  that  Love  o'er  Hope's  dead  face  a  watch 

had  kept, — 

While  all  the  pretty  flowers  bowed  their  heads 
and  wept. 

A  shuddering  sigh  went  wandering  through  the 

quiet  dark; 

Two  lovers  slumbered,  knowing  that  the  early  lark 
Would  wake  them  on  their  wedding-day, 
Their  heart-beats  thrilling  in  his  lay. 
How  could  they  know  that  all  Love's  hope  lay 

cold  and  stark — 

While  a  shuddering  sigh  went  wandering  through 
the  quiet  dark  ? 

The  placid  stars  looked  down,  all  unrelenting  cold, 
Upon  the  wide  gray  sea,  the  bleak  and  barren  wold. 
Close  in  her  gentle  arms,  her  child 
A  happy  mother  clasped  and  smiled, 


52  HOW    COULD    THEY    KNOW? 

Nor  knew,  that  for  her  Hope  had  died  and  Love 

grown  old, — 
While  placid  stars  looked  down  all  unrelenting 

cold. 

Wild     in     the    haunted    fens,    unhappy    spirits 

screamed; 
Calm  as  a  tired    child,   an   old    man   slept   and 

dreamed — 

Dreamed  of  the  loved  one  gone  before, 
He  soon  would  meet  upon  a  better  shore, — 
Nor  deemed  Love  wept  while  Hope's  pyre  flared 

and  gleamed, — 
And    loud    in    haunted    fens    unhappy    spirits 

screamed. 

Out  from  the  salt  sea-spray,  there  came  a  piteous 
moan. 

Yes,  but  "  the  Great  Creator  spoke  in  that  mighty 

tone," 

Bidding  the  laden  heart  oppressed 
Come  freely  unto  Him  and  rest. 

Love,  with  her  pale  dead  Hope,  gained  peace  from 
God  alone, — 

While  from  the  salt  sea-spray  there  came  a  pite 
ous  moan. 


POKSY.  53 


POESY. 

OH,  Poesy  !  in  vain  do  I  aspire 
To  make  sweet  music  on  thy  magic  lyre, 
Though  all  my  soul  is  racked  with  wild  desire, 
And  fancy  melts  my  mind  in  fervent  fire  ; 
Hearts  are  that  ask  for  joy  or  lover's  kiss — 
I  crave  no  other  boon  no  other  bliss 
Than  Poesy  should  smile  on  me;  for  this 
All  precious  things  of  life  I'd  freely  miss. 

God  saw  the  slumbering  babe  that  helpless  lay 
On  bed  of  roses  at  life's  dawn  of  day; 
Beheld  her  beauty,  and  since  then  alway 
Has  led  her  rosy  footsteps  o'er  life's  way, 
Till  she  had  grown  from  babyhood;  and  now 
She  stands  a  grand,  fair  woman;  on  her  brow 
A  wreath  of  myrtle,  'fore  whom  great  men  bow 
And  women  weep,  remembering  true  love's  vow; 
Friendship  may  wither  and  frail  love  repine, — 
I  should  not  sorrow  if  one  leaf  were  mine 
Of  that  bright  wreath  upon  thy  head  divine. 

Ah,  how  can  I  the  sacred  names  profane 

Of  Love  and  Friendship,  who  in  common  reign 

Alike  o'er  human  joy  and  human  pain; 

E'en  Poesy  herself  would  surely  die 

Should  Love  and  Friendship  in  the  grave  low  lie; 


54  POESY. 

Yielding  to  earth  their  last  expiring  sigh, 
Would  float  ecstatic  to  the  sounding  sky. 
Together,  hand  in  hand,  they  speed  along, 
Attended  by  the  seraphim  of  song, 
And  shower  mercy  on  the  seething  throng 
Of  human  tide,  on  both  the  weak  and  strong, 
The  young,  the  old,  the  father  and  the  child, 
The  fierce  virago  and  the  maiden  mild,— 
On  merry  eyes  and  lips  that  once  have  smiled, 
Now  cold  and  silent,  shrouded  in  the  gloom 
Of  dying  hopes  that  withered  in  their  bloom; 
On  heads  that  wear  exultant  honors  plume, 
And  gaunt  disgrace  that  totters  to  the  tomb. 

Oh,  Poesy  !  in  vain  do  I  aspire 
To  make  true  music  on  thy  magic  lyre, 
Though  all  my  soul  is  racked  with  wild  desire, 
And  fancy  melts  my  soul  in  fervent  fire. 


STEP   LIGHT,    SPEAK   LOW.  55 


STEP    LIGHT,    SPEAK    LOW. 

STEP  light,  speak  low, — for  baby  lies 

Upon  the  breast  of  slumber; 
May  angels  guard  his  sleeping  eyes 

And  all  his  night  hours  number. 

Step  light,  speak  low, — love's  tender  speech 
Is  better  heard  through  glances; 

A  silent  kiss  more  bliss  can  reach 
Than  eloquent  advances. 

Step  light,  speak  low, — a  silent  form 

Is  lying  still  forever; 
Impervious  to  calm  or  storm, 

To  wake  on  earth,  ah,  never. 

Step  light,  speak  low, — for  daylight's  roar 

Has  faded  into  quiet; 
The  breaking  waves  upon  the  shore 

Have  ceased  their  noisy  riot. 

Step  light,  speak  low,— for  fancy's  feet 
Have  strayed  to  distant  pleasures, 

To  cull  the  flowers  of  memory  sweet 
And  list  its  song-bird  measures. 


56  LOVE'S   LAST    TRYSTING-PLACE. 


LOVE'S    LAST    TRYSTING-PLACE. 

SLOW,  soughing  winds  adown  the  valley  sweep, 

Chanting  a  low,  weird  dirge; 
And  see,  the  very  heavens  in  pity  weep; 

The  dim  seas  wailing  surge 
Moans  as  it  creeps  o'er  the  gray,  pebbly  shore 

Ever  this  sad  refrain: 
"Fair  Alice,  earth  will  now  behold  no  more!" 

All  dismal  falls  the  rain, 
Soft  on  the  shivering,  many-tufted  grass, 

Soft  on  the  aspen  leaves 
Thro'  which  the  dreary  night  winds  sobbing  pass, 

And  where  the  earth  upheaves 
A  new-made  grave  within  the  churchyard  bourne; 

More  quietly  it  falls 
Upon  the  upturned  face,  so  strange  and  wan, 

Of  one  who  wildly  calls 
For  Alice— Alice,  dear,  life's  only  prize, 

Hidden  beneath  the  sod. 
Ah,  quenched  for  aye  the  light  of  her  sweet  eyes, 

Smitten  by  Death's  cold  rod. 

The  moon  to-night  just  peeped  above  the  hill, 

Then  veiled  her  pitying  face, 
As  there  she  saw  him,  cowering  white  and  still, 

On  love's  last  trysting-place. 


LOVE'S   LAST   TRYSTING-PLACE.  57 

Her  thought  went  back  to  a  warm,  dreamy  night 

When  summer  was  earth's  bride, 
When  woodland  rung  with  laughter  light, 

Joy  walked  by  beauty's  side — 
The  pansy,  lily,  and  sweetbriar  rose 

Flung  on  the  balmy  air 
An  odor  that  drowned  all  the  senses'  woes, 

Sweet  as  an  infant's  prayer — 
When  the  flowers  of  heaven  and  flowers  of  earth 

Smiled  in  each  other's  eyes — 
When  nature's  beauty  and  gay  music's  mirth 

Awoke  a  glad  surprise; 
And  clear  the  sound  came  of  the  rippling  rill, 

Flowing  through  meadows  green; 
Down  from  the  slopes  of  the  pine-covered  hill, 

Its  flowery  banks  between. 

At  times  the  shining  waters  placidly 

Slipped  o'er  its  moss-grown  bed; 
The  dewy  flowers  of  eve  wept  silently, 

The  willow  bent  its  head. 
Again,  its  rapid  currents  kissed  the  feet 

Of  gray  and  sombre  rocks, 
Whose  yellow  lichens -streamed  upon  the  sleet, 

Like  some  fair  mermaid's  locks. 
But  where  the  dancing  wavelets  reached  the  sea, 

Most  beautiful  it  seemed; 
Like  some  pure  life  merged  in  eternity, 

It's  last  waves  brightest  gleamed. 


58  LOVE'S   LAST    TRYSTING-PLACE. 

'Twas  there  where  curling,  foam-tipped  billows  roll 

Over  the  long  white  beach, 
That  the  old,  old  story  of  love  was  told. 

The  warm  kiss  strove  to  teach 
How  much  of  heaven  the  earth  may  once  contain, 

For  love's  betrothal  kiss 
Shines  like  a  star  above  life's  dreary  wold 

And  sorrow's  deep  abyss. 
Content  within  each  other's  loving  arms, 

The  blissful  moments  sped; 
While  in  the  book  of  nature's  wondrous  charms 

A  tale  of  love  they  read. 

'Twas  well  for  both  that  neither  one  could  peer 

Into  the  future  dim ; 
'Twas  well  that  she  to  his  heart  held  near, 

Clung  close,  ah,  close  to  him; 
For  now  where  the  roses  of  love  and  youth 

Bloomed  on  her  glowing  cheek, 
Are  the  pale,  sweet  lilies  of  death  and  truth 

Stamped  on  her  forehead  meek. 
For  now,  in  the  ice-cold  arms  of  the  grave, 

The  maiden  lies  asleep, 
While  rustling  grasses  green  above  her  wave, 

And  low  winds  murmuring  sweep. 
What  wonder  that  the  moon,  fair  queen  of  night, 

Had  veiled  her  pitying  face, 
As  there  she  saw  him,  cowering  still  and  white, 

On  love's  last  trysting-place! 


THE    WATER-SPRITE. 


THE     WATER-SPRITE 

I'M  a  water-sprite 
From  the  realms  of  light; 
In  the  mountain  stream 
I  glance  and  gleam, 
And  I  dip  my  wings, 
And  the  pretty  things 
On  window-panes  all, 
Where  the  raindrops  fall, 
Are  works  of  my  hands 
And  of  fairy  bands. 
In  rainbows  we  march 
Through  the  arching  skies, 
With  colors  flying, 
Our  bright  tints  vying; 
What  a  pretty  sight 
In  our  dresses  white, 
As  we  twist  and  twirl, 
As  the  shrill  winds  whirl 
Us  from  the  sky, 
Till  at  last  we  lie 
On  the  cold,  bare  ground, 
Which  so  soon  is  wound 
In  its  robes  of  snow, 
Till  its  form  below 
Is  hidden  from  view 
By  water-sprite,  too. 


60  THE    WATER-SPRITE. 

Now  we're  on  the  sea, 

Dancing  merrily; 

Now  we're  gliding  still 

With  the  pensive  rill, 

Where  the  wild  beasts  slake 

Their  thirst  in  the  lake. 

We  are  sovereign  there 

To  the  fierce  king's  glare; 

All  nature  abounds 

With  our  varied  sounds, 

And  we  fill  the  earth 

With  rivers  of  mirth. 

Now  in  cool  marble  halls, 

Where  the  fountain  falls, 

Rare  music  is  swelling, 

Its  cadence  is  telling 

Of  peace,  joy  and  light 

To  the  water-sprite. 

Then  in  dismal  vaults 

The  wild  spirit  halts 

And  bathes  the  brow 

Of  a  captive,  now, 

Who  finds  relief 

For  a  while  from  grief. 

Then  we're  off  again 

To  the  haunts  of  men, 

Our  flags  unfurled 

Through  the  wide,  wide  world, 

Earth  is  beauty's  bower, 


THE    WATER-SPRITE.  61 

By  water-sprite's  power; 
Go  whither  you  will, 
On  dale  or  on  hill, 
You  will  see  the  might 
Of  the  water-sprite. 


62  "IT   MIGHT   HAVE   BEEN: 


"IT    MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN." 

BRIGHT  youth  starts  out  with  valiant  heart, 

Resolved  the  goals  of  life  to  win; 
Gray  age,  with  life  about  to  part, 

All  sadly  says:    "It  might  have  been." 

Bowed  down  by  weight  of  weary  years, 
Years  that  are  full  of  grief  and  sin, 

He  sees  above  a  vale  of  tears 

The  shadowy  text:    "It  might  have  been." 

The  saddest  words  on  mortal  tongue, 

And  to  despair  the  nearest  kin, 
Are  those  from  broken  hearts  oft  wrung, — 

Those  piteous  words:    "  It  might  have  been.' 


IN   THE  LIBRARY.  63 


IN     THE     LIBRARY. 

A  BOOK  of  poems,  a  cover  gray, 

On  the  shelf  with  a  thousand  more, 

Covered  with  dust  of  years  it  lay,— 
I  forget  the  name  it  bore. 

Yet  some  heart  throbbed  at  each  earnest  word 

That  I  passed  so  coldly  by; 
And  in  midnight  watches  the  angels  heard 

It's  pathetic,  imploring  cry. 


64  RETROSPECTION. 


RETROSPECTION. 

A  LITTLE  flower  grew  by  the  dusty  highway, — 
A  common  yellow  flower,  such  as  you  see 
Amid  the  grasses  of  a  sunlit  lea, 

Or  fringing  either  side  of  rose-edged  by-way. 

A  child  to  pick  the  hardy  bloom  bent  lowly, — 
Illumed  the  ethereal  beauty  of  his  face 
With  the  bright  aureola  of  childhood's  grace, 

And   destined,  like   the  flowers,  to  fade,  though 
slowly. 

i 

Years  led  the  baby  feet  to  manhood's  regions; 

Forgotten  was  that  simple  flower  then, 

As  eagerly  among  the  race  of  men 
He  sought  the  fairest  blooms  of  star-eyed  legions. 

A  bird  sat  on  a  gnarled  oak-tree,  thrilling 
The  air  of  May.     It  was  a  simple  song, 
A  little  plaintive,  though  'twas  gay  not  long, 

That  all  the  dewy  air  of  morn  was  filling. 

A  boy,  his  heart  with  youthful  impulse  beating, 
Stood  still  and  listened  to  its  short  refrain, 
With  sunny  smiles  unshadowed  by  dull  pain, 

But  like  the  song,  alas,  too  fleeting. 


RETROSPECTION.  65 

Time  led  the  boyish  feet  to  manhood's  pleasures; 
That  short  refrain  was  heard  no  more — 
As  looking  up,  almost  where  angels  soar, 

He  sought  the  voice  that  rang  in  rarest  measures. 

Yet,  when  those  feet  have  once  crossed  heaven's 
portals, 

I  think  that  flower  will  greet  his  vision  first; 

That  bird's  song  thrill  his  heart  before  the  burst 
Of  melody  from  harps  of  the  immortals. 


66  ROMANCE     TIME. 


ROMANCE     TIME. 

A  TREMOR  through  the  crimsoned  oats, 
One  shining  thread  of  wild-bird  notes 
Woven  in  sombre  silences;  and  flakes 
From  even-tide's  pale  azure  sift 
And  pile  transparent  sunset  drift 
On  fragile  ferns  and  mountain-mirrored  lakes; 
One  star  alone  hangs  in  the  trembling  air, 
The  star  of  love;  see,  dear,  it  is  so  fair. 

The  wing  of  night,  all  silver-tipped, 

In  reedy-margined  river  dipped; 

A  gem  of  light  on  the  deep  dusk  rose 

Over  the  star-enameled  sea; 

From  lute-voiced  forests  drowsily 

Chanting,  one  snowy  sunset  glows. 

Red,  vinous  love  beats  through  our  being,  dear,- 

Soul  of  my  soul,  life's  romance  time  is  near. 


A     THOUGHT.  67 


A     THOUGHT. 

MYRIADS  of  burnished  wings 
Shimmer  o'er  seaweed  and  white  coral  reef; 

From  ruby-throated  shells 

A  rhythmic  chorus  swells; 
In  wooded  dells,  from  every  trembling  leaf, 

A  hallelujah  rings. 

Lift  up  your  eyes  on  high — 
From  the  still  beauty  of  its  shining  nest 

Flutters  a  snowy  dove, 

Bearer  of  peace  and  love. 
Ah,  may  the  bird  within  your  heart  find  rest, 

Content  no  more  to  fly. 


THE    WIND    AND    I. 


THE    WIND    AND    I. 

Ho,  WIND!  I'll  be  your  playfellow  to-night; 

When  all  the  house  is  fast  asleep, 

Soft  through  the  garden  path  I'll  creep, 

Till  safe  from  the  reach  of  sound  and  sight. 

Then  we  will  scamper  gaily  o'er  the  hill 

With  shadows  weird  of  black  cloud  rifts; 

High,  where  the  rough  old  pine-tree  lifts 

Its  head  to  midnight  sky;  through  ruined  mill, 

Where  moonbeams,  through  the  doors 

Whose  rusty  hinges  creak, 

In  dim  and  dusty  corners  play, 

While  'neath  the  straggling  rushes  weep 

Deserted  waters.     Then,  with  sudden  freak 

And  impulse  whimsical,  we'll  whirl  the  leaves 

Down  the  long  lane  in  rustling  shower; 

And  then,  anon,  will  try  the  power 

Of  flight;  and  whistling  swiftly  'neath  the  eaves 

Of  the  gray  barn  down  by  the  river  shore; 

On,  on,  on  with  maddening  speed, 

Ready  for  any  daring  deed, 

Onward  we'll  rush  and  provoke  the  roar 

Of  ocean  angrily  shaking  his  mane, 

'Till,  beating  the  rocks  with  his  thunderous  paws, 

He  seizes  a  ship  in  his  cruel  jaws. 

Ah!  playfellow,  then  with  hearts  of  pain 


THE    WIND    AND    I.  69 

Through  the  dark  night  hours  we'll  sob  and  moan. 
To-morrow  a  breeze  and  a  tender  voice 
That  bids  the  flowers  and  men  rejoice; 
To-night  the  wind  and  my  soul  alone. 


70  THE    MEETING. 


THE     MEETING. 

HANGS  the  new  moon  in  the  tree-top, 

Cradled  in  a  violet  haze, 
And  the  flowers  all  are  sleeping 

Underneath  the  stars  mild  rays. 
The  hollyhocks  all  day  have  nodded, 

Nodded  o'er  the  picket  gate, 
Gossiping  with  friendly  sunflowers, 

But  'tis  late,  now  it  is  late; 
And  the  cricket  chirps  impatient — 

Sighs  the  breeze,  at  last,  at  last, 
A  footstep  on  the  dewy  clover ! 

Ah,  my  warm  blood  beats  as  fast. 
There's  a  shiver  through  the  poplars, 

And  the  stars,  the  stars  are  dim, 
While  the  breeze  is  sighing,  shuddering, 

Sighing  out  a  requiem. 
For  in  arms  of  midnight  silent, 

Tired  joy  has  sunk  to  rest, 
And  the  wild  sea  in  the  distance 

Silvers  all  the  saddened  west. 
Faint  the  roses,  faint  the  lilies, 

Faint  in  heavy  perfumed  swoon; 
Stay;  'tis  early,  early,  early, 

Leave  me  not  so  soon,  so  soon. 


COM  PENS  A  TION.  71 


COMPENSATION. 

JUST  a  bunch  of  pansies  and  a  smilax  spray, 
Lying  on  the  pavement,  turning  to  decay. 

Fading — yes,  but  your  beauty  once  made  some 

heart  glad; 
Then,  although  you  must  die,  dear  flowers,  oh,  be 

not  sad. 

Just  one  strain  of  music,  then  a  broken  string; 
Just   one   flight   to    cloudland,    then  a  wounded 
wing. 

Yes !  but    the   strain    of  music   sounds   through 

some  life's  dream, 
And  the  wounded   bird  lives  alway  in  a  poet's 

theme. 


72  LIFE'S    MESSENGER. 


LIFE'S     MESSENGER. 

No,  NO,  I  would  not  clothe  my  deep  regard, 

My  tender  passion,  in  a  clumsy  dress 
Of  words,  whose  awkward  draperies  retard 

The  lightsome  steps  of  love,  but  soft  caress 
And  tender  sigh  will  form  the  gauzy  veil 

That  half  conceals,  and  yet  reveals,  her  grace. 
As  fair  as  the  mystic  shapes  that  sail 

On  poet's  sea  of  thought,  instinct  her  face 
With  music,  only  those  songs  will  she  sing 

That  find  an  echo  sweet  in  hearts  that  beat 
In  unison.     And  flowers  love  will  bring,  and 

Lay  them  on  your  breast  and  at  your  feet, — 
The  lily  white,  my  dear,  your  purity; 

The  deep  red  rose,  your  ardent  pulsing  blood; 
The  sunflower,  for  affection's  surety, 

All  glistening  in  the  golden  drops  that  flood 
From  love's  o'erflowing  heart.    Thus,  thus  would  I 

Send  love  to  thee,  my  life's  one  fond  desire. 
'Tis  all  the  heaven  I  ask  when  thou  art  nigh, 

Thy  dear,  dear  heart,  all,  all  that  I  aspire. 


THE    VOICES   OF    THE   PAST. 


THE     VOICES     OF     THE     PAST. 

I  HEAR  low  voices  calling,  calling,  calling, — 
The  soft,  melodious  voices  of  the  spring; 

In  measured  cadence  falling,  falling,  falling, — 
The  tender,  dulcet  voices  of  the  spring. 

Full  many  a  season's  come  and  gone, 

And  vanished  in  the  past's  retrieveless  bourne, 

Yet  still  one  springtime  dwelleth  in  my  heart, 

And  golden  flowers  of  memory  will  start 

Upon  the  sunny  hills  of  reverie. 

Once  more  I  stand  beneath  the  old  oak  tree, 

All  glowing  with  beauty  Morning's  face, 

Her  pulses  thrilling  in  shy  Spring's  embrace. 

And    hear  young,  sweet    voices    calling,  calling, 
calling, — 

The  tender  voices  of  that  long  ago; 
In  measured  cadence  falling,  falling,  falling 

Upon  my  heart  in  accents  soft  and  low. 


74  GOD    IS   LOVE. 


GOD     IS     LOVE. 

GOD  of  the  Universe,  immensity  and  power  art 

Thou! 

The  hoarse  voice  of  the  waves,  the  starry  firma 
ment  above, 
Birds   that  in   the  forest  raise  a  gleeful   chorus 

now, 

Winds  sighing  lullabies,  and  scented,  rustling 
grasses,  all  declare  that  "God  is  Love." 


TWO    PICTURES.  75 


TWO     PICTURES. 

AN  angel  stood  by  a  sleeper's  bed, 

And  bent  in  pity  his  noble  head, 

To  gaze  on  an  infant's  dimpled  charms, 

And  murmur  gently,  with  outstretched  arms, 

"Long,  long  is  the  path,  dear  little  one, 

Thy  feet  must  tread,  ere  the  goal  be  won: 

Ah,  weary,  weary  the  toilsome  road 

That  you  must  travel  to  your  abode." 

How  fair,  how  innocent,  how  bright, 

As  she  lay  'mid  the  snowy  pillows  white; 

Yet  the  guardian  angel  stooped  to  place 

A  pitying  kiss  on  the  flower-like  face. 

An  angel  stood  where  the  murky  tide 

Had  cast  up  the  form  of  a  suicide, 

And  bent  to  look  at  the  foam-wet  hair, 

And  the  poor,  thin  hands,  so  worn  with  care. 

Nay,  judge  her  not,  for  the  angel  knew 

How  deep  was  the  woe  that  her   soul  passed 

through; 

And  how  in  a  moment,  crazed  with  grief, 
She  had  sought  in  the  arms  of  death  relief; 
How  weak,  how  pitiful,  how  frail, 
As  she  lies  there  so  still  and  pale! 
Yet  the  guardian  angel  stooped  to  place 
A  kiss  of  joy  on  the  upturned  face. 


76  THK    COMFORTER. 


THE     COMFORTER. 

SEEKEST  thou  alone  in  high-born  thought 

Peace  of  mind  to  find  ? 
Remember  who  it  was  that  wrought 

Suffering  mankind 
Sacrifice  so  great,  so  fearful, — 

Who  it  was  that  left, 
Hours  of  bliss  for  vigils  tearful, 

Almost  hope  bereft. 
Not  those  within  the  sculptured  fane, 

Worshiping  alone, 
Who  hear  their  brethren  cry  in  vain, 

Heeding  not  the  groan 
Sent  from  the  throbbing  heart  of  woe, 

Will  in  relief  extend 
A  helping  hand,  or  mercy  show. 

But  'tis  they  who  bend 
'Neath  a  weary  load  of  sorrow, 

Born  for  other's  weal, 
Who  from  God  sweet  peace  may  borrow, 

Heaven's  sweet  pity  feel. 


A    HYMN.  77 


A     HYMN. 

ON  wings  of  faith,  my  fancy  flies 
To  better  worlds  and  fairer  skies — 
And  though  on  earth  all  seems  so  drear, 
Hope  gently  bids  me,  "  Never  fear." 

For  God,  the  righteous  One  above, 
Has  told  of  His  most  precious  love — 
And,  oh,  that  love,  so  freely  given, 
Is  the  bright  path  that  leads  to  heaven. 

I  fear  not  sin,  nor  death's  cold  flood, 
Protected  by  that  precious  blood; 
I'll  ever  hold  to  that  dear  hand 
Till  I  reach  home — the  Promised  Land. 


78  "LET    YOUR    LIGHT   SO    SHINES 


LET    YOUR    LIGHT    SO    SHINE." 

SPIRIT,  to  the  gates  of  heaven 

Wing  imagined  flight; 
Bathe  in  floods  of  light  deriven 

From  celestial  site; 
Joy  in  the  songs  of  Paradise, — 

Drink  their  raptures  deep, 
Deep  in  thy  soul,  and  let  thine  eyes 

Heavenly  glories  sweep. 
But  when  called  to  earth  again, 

Let  your  light  so  shine 
That  it  fall  on  fellow-men — 

Like  music,  all  divine. 


WAKING.  79 


WAKING. 

CLEAR  and  crisp  comes  morning  twilight, 

Herald  of  approaching  day; 
High  in  East  the  flaming  red  light 

Flings  its  banners  o'er  the  bay, 
Set  a  jewel  in  the  land, 

Flashing,  iridescent,  bright. 
Purple  hills,  like  cameos,  stand 

Against  the  fading  skies  of  night. 

In  magic  sleep,  the  city  lies, 

Waiting  for  the  prince  of  morn, 
In  his  glorious  strength  to  rise, 

Then  to  kiss  her  into  dawn. 
Now,  the  signs  of  life  returning, 

Each  one  to  his  task  departs. 
See,  the  thousand  smoke-clouds  burning! 

Myriads  of  aching  hearts 

Leave  their  dazzling  dreams  of  beauty, 

Wake  to  grim  realities, 
Join  the  ranks  of  stern  old  duty, 

Fighting  'gainst  severities. 
The  grim  haunts  of  squalid  sin, 

And  the  reeking  dens  of  vice, 
Gilded  palaces  of  gin — 

These  for  care  will  not  suffice. 


80  WAKING. 

She  will  take  possession,  Wisdom, 

Of  thy  seat  of  honor  high, 
And,  like  spectre,  grim  and  gruesome, 

Through  the  camp  of  glory  fly. 
There  is  no  soul  but  hath  its  grief, 

No  light  heart  but  hath  its  sorrow! 
In  sleep's  hours,  it  finds  relief, 

And  awakens  with  the  morrow. 

Soul,  whatever  be  your  AVOC, 

Heart,  whatever  be  your  trouble, 
Hope's  bright  bow  for  you  should  glow, 

Life  is  not  an  empty  bubble. 
Gem  of  peace  it  is — 'twill  be 

Hid  a  while  beneath  the  sod; 
Then  spring  to  immortality, 

Seeking  its  Eternal  God. 


OF   THK 

RSITY 


THE  SOUL'S    STATELY   MANSIONS.         81 


"BUILD     THEE     MORE     STATELY    MAN 
SIONS,    0     MY    SOUL." 

WHERE  winds  the  Rhine  its  sinuous  banks  be 
tween, 

High  on  a  lofty  hilltop  may  be  seen 
A  ruined  castle,  whose  dismantled  tower 
Is  reminiscent  of  departed  power. 

Where  once  the  warrior  stood  in  proud  array, 
Where  gallant  banners  streamed  from  turrets  gray, 
Now  slowly  through  the  long,  dim  ages  crawls 
The  clinging  ivy  o'er  its  crumbling  walls. 

By  man  renounced,  by  Nature  fortified, 
Its  beauty  living,  though  its  power  has  died. 
What  tho'  no  more  resounds  war's  deafening  roar, 
What  tho'  the  clash  of  arms  is  heard  no  more, 

Do  not  the  song-  birds,  through  long  sunny  hours, 
Thrill  all  the  sunshine  glad  and  shaded  bowers? 
What  though  man's  reign  so  briefly  is  at  end, 
Time's  ravages  Spring  and  her  followers  mend. 

When  long  the  signals  of  departed  day 
Have  ceased  to  flutter  in  the  sky,  when  over  bay, 
Stream,  mountain-top  and  vale,  from  sable  wings, 
Its  deepening  shadows  lonely  midnight  flings — 


82  THE  SOUL'S   STATELY   MANSIONS. 

When  stars  look  down  upon  the  ancient  pile, 
As  grandly  through  ethereal  paths  they  file, 
Those  molten  spheres,  those  swift  revolving  suns, 
Behold  a  sight — for  so  the  legend  runs — 

Most  marvelous  and  rare.     Forth  from  the  hold, 
From  subterranean  dungeon,  worn  and  old, 
There  issues  such  a  mighty  blaze,  that  night 
Flees  from  the  moated  castle  in  affright. 

Bright  flames  of  living  gold,  and  purple  hue, 
With  vivid  crimson,  emerald  and  blue, 
Illume  the  haunted  castle,  till  it  seems 
The  embodiment  of  a  poet's  dreams. 

Oh,  thus,  when  bleak  misfortune's  dark  skies  loom 
Above  life's  shattered  prospects,  when  the  gloom 
Of  midnight  settles  o'er  its  crumbling  walls, 
Through  which  how  faint  resound  dear  memory's 
calls, 

From  out  the  inmost  passage  of  the  heart 
Bright  flames  of  living  faith  and  hope  should  start, 
Illuming  all  life's  castle,  till  it  seems 
The  embodiment  of  high  and  noble  dreams. 


COURAGE. 


COURAGE. 

NOT  a  sparrow  falleth,  but  God's  eye  doth  mark 

its  fall  1 

Hark !  across  life's  Galilee,  floats  forth  the  lov 
ing  call  : 
"  Peace,  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid." 

Hushed  be  each  sad  complaint; 
Doth  He  not  clothe  the  lilies  fair? 
Then  why  should  courage  faint? 


84  CONSOLA  TION. 


CONSOLATION. 

AND  your  heart,  too,  is  it  sad  my  friend, — 
Does  love  to  your  life  no  glamour  lend? 
Go  sow  your  sympathy,  far  and  wide, 
And  then,  in  the  gladsome  harvest-tide, 
The  seeds  of  pain  will  be  grains  of  gold, 
And  each  salt  tear  that  glistens  cold 
In  your  secret  heart  will  shine  again 
In  the  future's  starry  diadem. 

Ah,  peace,  troubled  soul!     It  is  not  in  vain 
This  bitter  sorrow,  this  weary  pain; 
Each  thorn  of  trouble,  each  weed  of  care, 
Time's*touch  will  turn  to  a  flower  fair. 
God  saith  to  the  heart — he  knoweth  best, — 
Some  day,  thou  shalt  know  eternal  rest. 


TO    MY    MOTHER. 


TO     MY     MOTHER. 

THERE   is  joy  I'd   not   exchange  for  any   other 

bliss. 
You  ask  me  what  this  treasure  is?     Why,   'tis 

my  mother's  kiss. 

Will-o'-the-wisps,  o'er  error's  swamp,  my  foot 
steps  oft  beguile; 

But  radiant  in  the  sky  of  love,  shines  forth  my 
mother's  smile. 


86  TO    H- 


TO     H . 

THERE  is  a  land  where  gentlest  zephyrs  blow; 

On  its  ambrosial  air,  reverberating  low, 

Are  strange,  low  strains,  that  haunt  the  listener's 

ear 

Forever.     Often  we  have  wandered,  dear, 
Through  the  glad  sunshine  of  its  sylvan  shades. 
Together,  culled  its  flowers,  with  the  dews 
Still  wet  upon  their  petals'  dazzling  hues; 
Strayed  idly  on  its  sea-beach,  hand  in  hand, 
And  linked  our  names  together  on  the  sand; 
Looked  at  the  hills,  and  wondered  what  might  lie 
Beyond  their  verdant  barriers — you  and  I! 

Well,  some  of  this  beyond,  we  both  have  seen — 

That  few  rich  harvests  reap,  and  many  glean; 

That  in  life's  mines  few  strike  a  precious  vein; 

That  many  labor  hard  and  nothing  gain; 

That  victory  is  not  always  to  the  right; 

That  often  there  falls  a  withering  blight 

Upon  the  hoped-for  happiness  of  men. 

But  we  are  told  'twill  all  end  well,  and  when 

We  grow  aweary  of  the  noisy  broil, 

The  bitter  strife,  and  never-ceasing  toil, 

We  may  find  rest  and  peace  in  memory, 

And  quench  our  thirst  in  joys  that  used  to  be, 


TO    H .  87 

When  through  its  pleasant  valleys,  hand  in  hand, 
We  plucked  the  dainty  blooms  of  childhood's  land. 
Then  cheered  and  quickened,  we  go  on  again, 
Striving  to  do  right  toward  our  fellow-men. 
What  tho'  we  gain  no  laurel-wreaths  from  fame; 
What  tho'  we  two  know  but  each  other's  name? 
There  is  a  land — and  not  so  far  away — 
Where  we,  through  meadows  of  God's  love  may 

stray, 

Children  again,  but  this  time  purged  of  sin: 
For  otherwise,  ye  shall  not  enter  in. 


TO    EDITH. 


TO     EDITH. 

OH,  sweet  young  maid,  with  tresses  fair, 

And  eyes  of  heavenly  hue, 
Your  gentle  life  has  known  no  care, 

Your  heart  is  pure  and  true. 
So  may  the  sky  of  future  be 

Unclouded  as  'tis  now, 
The  crown  of  true  felicity, 

Shining  upon  your  brow. 
And  when  as  each  succeeding  year 

Adds  to  life's  chain  a  link, 
May  those  bright  eyes  know  but  the  tear 

That  flows  when  fond  ones  think 
Upon  the  faces  they  have  known 

And  loved  in  days  gone  by, 
Ere  yet  the  spring  of  life  had  flown, 

When  the  tide  of  youth  ran  high. 
Edith,  whose  tender,  loving  voice 

Dispels  all  gloomy  fears — 
Making  the  drooping  heart  rejoice, 

Driving  away  all  tears — 
For  you,  upon  your  birthday  bright, 

We'll  breathe  this  earnest  prayer: 
May  sorrow  always  be  as  light 

As  you  are  young  and  fair. 


TO 


TO     C . 

TO-MORROW  '11  loose  the  moorings  of  thy  life,  my 

boy, 

And  bid  thee  steer  into  the  open  sea. 
Heaven  grant   its  sails    may    prosperous   winds 

employ, 

That  firm  and  resolute  thy  hand  may  be 
To  meet  the  uncertain  dangers  of  the  deep. 

For  nowhere  is  the  sea.  my  dear  young  friend, 
So  calm,  but  clouds  from  its  dim  edges  creep; 
No  sky  so  clear,  but  heaven's  arsenals  send 
Death  and  destruction  in  the  wrathful  tempest's 

blast. 

Sail  on,  fear  not  to  breast  Life's  mighty  sea, 
But  on  the  compass  of  God's  love  thine  eyes  fix 

fast, 
'Twill  surely  guide  thee  to  a  bright  eternity. 


90  TO  H- 


TO  H ,  ON  HER  SEVENTEENTH 

BIRTHDAY. 

THE  cowslip  lifts  its  tiny  head 

Up  to  the  bright  blue  sky; 
The  perfume,  by  sweet  roses  shed, 

Tells  me  of  summer  nigh. 

Upon  a  fair  and  beauteous  morn, 

Just  seventeen  years  ago, 
A  lovely  little  babe  was  born 

Into  a  world  of  woe. 

"  A  world  of  woe  made  bright,  'tis  said, 

By  loving  words  and  deeds," 
Whispered  a  tuft  of  clover  red, 

That  grew  among  the  weeds. 

"That's  true,"  I  answered  softly, 
As  I  stooped  to  pick  the  flower; 

"  There  are  no  joys  so  costly 

But  are  found  in  love's  sweet  bower." 

And  so,  my  dearest  child,  here 

On  this,  your  bright  birthday, 
I'll  weave  a  wreath  of  love,  dear, 

That  will  never  fade  away. 


TO    H .  91 

The  lovely  blooms  of  hope,  my  dear, 

We'll  twine  among  the  flowers. 
To  whisper  of  the  rapture  near, 

In  the  future's  golden  hours. 

But  remember,  oh  remember, 

What  ere  that  future  bring, 
One  heart  will  fondly  linger, 

Will  ever  to  thee  cling. 

The  twinkling  worlds,  in  heaven  afar, 
Are  not  more  true  to  the  night 

Than  I  to  thee,  my  earth's  bright  star, 
Sparkling  in  friendship  bright. 

Oh,  may  that  friendship  never  wane 

Ere  life's  brief  day  is  o'er; 
Oh,  pray  'twill  be  renewed  again 

Upon  the  heavenly  shore. 


92  A    BIRTHDAY    WISH. 


A     BIRTHDAY     WISH. 

I  WILL  not  wish  your  life  to  be 
Pure  joy  and  unalloyed  content. 
Learn  from  the  sweet  flowers  that  adorn 
Your  birthday  each  rose  has  its  thorn, 
And  tho'  the  filmy  petals  fade, 
The  seeds  fulfill  a  higher  element. 

This  will  I  wish  you — patience, 

Tho'  thick  with  thorns  your  life  be  filled; 

And  as  life's  petals  fall  away, 

Faith's  sight  to  know,  the  body  may  decay, 

But  in  the  garden  of  eternity 

Will  bloom  the  soul,  as  God  hath  willed. 


MY    HOME. 


MY    HOME. 

A  LITTLE  distance  from  the  street, 

There  stands  a  dwelling  old— 
Not  like  the  ancient  castle  grim, 

With  visage  stern  and  bold, 
But  with  a  kindly,  smiling  face, 

That  makes  the  wanderer  sigh, 
As  he  dreams  of  other  lands, 

While  the  teardrop  dims  his  eye. 

A  large,  old-fashioned  garden, 

Stretches  round  it  on  all  sides 
Where  spring  has  left  her  farewell  kiss, 

And  summer  now  abides; 
Oh,  sweet  the  scented  breath 

Of  the  fragrant  roses  seems, 
And  all  the  balmy  morning  air 

With  the  wild  bees'  humming  teems! 

Here,  in  a  corner  of  the  garden, 

There  stands  a  lofty  pine, 
And  round  about  its  sturdy  trunk 

The  clinging  ivy  twines; 
The  hollyhocks  and  the  dahlia 

Their  gaudy  pinions  wave, 
And  in  a  flood  of  sunshine, 

The  faithful  sunflowers  lave. 


94  REST. 


REST. 

LIKE  a  tired  child  that  sinks  to  sleep 

Upon  its  mother's  breast, 
Take  me,  oh,  kindly  mother  earth, 

And  let  me,  too,  find  rest. 
Sing  your  low  lullabies, 

Oh,  woodland. winds  and  silver  streams,- 
Sing  your  low  lullabies 

Of  childhood's  happy  dreams; 
And  then,  thou  best-beloved, 

E'er- changing,  changeless  sea, 
Close  by  thy  heart  I  long  to  be, — 

Wilt  thou  keep  watch  o'er  me? 


YC   14470 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


385 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


